The story that you all have come to know and respect is all true. That of Geralt of Rivia, his friendships, encounters, love, and of course, destiny...

But what if there is a piece of his tale that had been forgotten? That critical piece is the story of one whose life intertwined with his. The story of another...

Witcher.

Prologue

It's dark. A complete darkness she's used to. She looks around to try to figure out where she is now. She sees a small deer minding its own, but there's a thirst she has for its blood. It's flesh. She can hear something moving through the swamp but doesn't see anything. She looks down and her legs are that of a large insect. Before she knows it, she's darting towards the deer. She gets a piece. A large chunk off the back leg. Now she's fighting someone. Someone she can't see, but they have a silver sword. A witcher? She can't see who they are. Her perspective's switched and she now stands contending with the kikimora. She can't control her movements, only watch as the battle continues. She's held underwater, grasping for the silver blade that was knocked from her...their hand. She tries to focus as it continues to reach for the sword. Grunts coming from one, screeching from another. The hand finally grabs the weapon and thrusts it upward into the kikimora's throat. Its tar colored blood spewing on to everything that surrounds it.

The bustle of the crowd in the tavern is like every other small town she's been in. The men are drunk, the women are working...some of the women are drunk and working. Being treated like meat. They don't care. So, she doesn't either. At least she tries not to. She watches from her corner while the youngest of the barmaids gets her backside slapped by a patron as she makes her rounds. She's the only one that doesn't seem to want the attention but lets it be. It's dark, dank, but obviously the go-to place for the population of Acorn Bay.

"The hairy man over there would like an ale or two, the other guy with the double chin wants the special breeeeEEw." The young bar maid's singing makes her cringe. Far from the smooth sounds of bards she's heard during her journeys. The barmaid looks in her direction and her body tenses. "Oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't know anyone was here! I'll be back around to you in a second, okay?" She nods but doesn't say a word. The barmaid starts her singing again as she walks away strategically handling the pints she's cleared from the nearby table, "Come back to the woman with the head full of squid-inked cuuuurlssss..." The woman wraps a coil of her hair around her finger and pulls it forward to look at its deep black color. She shrugs and begins to roll a coin through her scarred fingers as she waits patiently to be served. She continues to take in her surroundings, she can't help herself. It's how she's been trained. No threats to her here though. No one even notices that she's in their space. Good enough for her.

The barmaid comes and sits at her table.

"Sorry about that. It's quite mad in here tonight." She nods. "So, what're ya havin' then?"

"What are you serving for food?"

"Oh, you know. The usual. Pheasant, apples, sausages. Pretty sure we have a good catch in the back. The cook can whip that up nice with a side of vegetables."

"I'll have that. And an ale."

"Perfect! Be right back." She slides the chair out from the table making a loud noise that echoes through the place. "She'd like to have the catch. And I can grab the rest. It'll be really good, just like all the food shooooOOOOoould."

"That's unfortunate," she says under her breath as she watches the redhead walk away. The hand from the kikimora dream flashes in her thoughts. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to focus on who the hand belongs to. She must have been trying longer than she thought.

"Ya tired then? I didn't think the cook took that long. Did she?" She slowly opens her eyes and sees the red-headed barmaid standing in front of her with a plate of food. "Here ya go." She slides the meal and pint in front of her. "D'you mind?" The barmaid points at the chair sitting across from her. She shakes her head and the barmaid sits and stares at her. She ignores her and starts on her food. She's used to the looks. Everyone tries to figure her out, but very few ask any questions. "So, where're ya from, then?"

"Everywhere."

"But, you have to have started somewhere, yeah?"

"Beyond the seas." She stuffs another forkful into her mouth.

"Beyond the seas!? Wow! I'd love to go there." The barmaid looks off and loses herself. She looks at the woman, then at the corner of the ceiling where her focus had gone. "So. What is it that you do?" The woman looks into her eyes, then back at the weapons that sit behind her. The barmaid follows her non-verbal cues but doesn't catch on until she sees the cat-shaped medallion peering through her clothing. "You're a witcher!?" The clamor of the crowd goes quiet. Quiet enough to hear a few cups drop. Everyone is looking in their direction now. She stares at the patrons that are attempting to figure her out. The barmaid yells out, "Ya heard what ya heard! Go on about your business, then!" And just like that, the noise picks up again.

The witcher takes in a deep breath and goes back to her food.

"Sorry 'bout that. It's just that I haven't ever seen a witcher. I mean, I've heard of 'em..." The witcher turns her head slightly, waiting for her to tell whatever elaborate tales she may have heard. "...but never seen one, y'know? And...well, you're a woman, aren't ya?" She looks up at the barmaid, then down to her chest, and raises an eyebrow. "Well, I mean, that wasn't really a question that needed answerin'. Just chattin' is all. Rare we get any strangers 'round here. 'Specially any that stay as long as you have." The barmaid taps her nails on the table, thinking of what her next topic should be. A groggy, deep voice yells across the tavern,

"ROZ! GET BACK TO YOUR TABLES, WOMAN!"

"I'LL GET TO IT!" She yells over her shoulder.

"Obviously, the name's Roz. Yours?" The woman lets out another puff of air before answering.

"Faiza. Of Ofir."

"Faiza? Well, that's a lovely name, isn't it!"

"NOW! OR I CAN FIND ANOTHER EMERALD-EYED WENCH WHO WILL!" Roz rolls her eyes.

"What does your eye color have to do with anything?" Faiza asks.

"Who really knows? He comments on them so often that I don't even hear it anymore. On any hand, they're empty threats. But threats just the same. I need this job and he knows it." Roz stands. "I'll be 'round here. Let me know if ya need anything else, will ya?" Faiza nods in return. She watches as Roz walks towards the man who seems to own the place. As Roz passes him, he slaps her on the ass. She stops walking, clenches her fist, takes in a deep breath and continues to her responsibilities. The man stands laughing while he watches her move away. Faiza squints and tilts her head. She pushes herself away from the table, grabs her weapons, and adjusts her jacket. She pushes her way through the crowd and reaches the bar. The owner walks over to Faiza.

"Can I help you with somethin'?" He bites his bottom lip and runs his eyes up and down her body. She does her best to hide her disgust, but he seems to catch it anyway. Her obvious irritation seems to make him push harder. She glares at him. "Those are some beauties you've got. Haven't seen that color eyes before in all my years. The grey is like a heavy rainstorm is brewin', but the amber flakes are like the sun rays shining through. What treasures." A perverted smile slides across his face as he rubs his hands together. Roz interrupts,

"Need anything else?" Faiza never looks away from the owner. She lays a few coins on the table and asks,

"Where can I get some rest?" Roz collects the payment and hands it to the man, who's still staring at Faiza as he places the coins in his pocket.

"You can stay here. We've plenty room," the owner offers. Faiza ignores him.

"Oh! Uhm...right up the road there. It's close. No need to ride your horse if you've got one."

"What time do you guys close?" Roz rolls her eyes up to think.

"Uhm. Right around the time the moon is at its highest, I'd say. Open bright and early for breakfast if ya'd like. They also have some good meals at the inn there." Faiza looks over at Roz who's trying her best to cut the tension with her helpfulness that's stamped with an uneasy grin. Faiza places an extra coin into Roz's palm. Her face lights up and Faiza looks towards the owner.

"That's hers." The same crude smile remains on his face as he nods in agreement. Faiza turns and walks out of the tavern.

Night falls over the small town on the bank of the delta. Being so close to water makes what Faiza's there to do much easier. She leans back on the small bed that she's rented for the evening contemplating how she will execute her plan. She runs her fingers along the blade of her steel dagger. She knows she won't need much more than that. Faiza stands and stretches, feeling the movement of her light-weight armor. She checks the threading to make sure it's still intact and can handle an attack. She pulls the loose straps on her sides to ensure her ribs are protected. She pats the padding on her thighs. Thick enough to keep a blade from penetrating any critical nerves. Not that she needs it, the healing process is just hell. Better to skip it altogether. She looks over at the potions that sit in a bag next to her things.

"Won't need it." She spins the tip of her dagger on her index finger to test its balance. A tinge of pain makes her wince as a droplet of blood hits the floor. She rolls her shoulders and cracks her neck. She listens as a few of the drunk tavern guests sing loudly as they leave. That's her cue.

She exits the inn, into the darkened streets. All is pretty much quiet outside of the stragglers still making it into their homes to their not-so-happy wives. She peeks her head from around the corner of the alleyway. She sees Roz leaving the tavern, expecting to see the owner right behind her. As Roz wraps a scarf around her hair and starts in the direction of her home a black cat finds Faiza's legs and begins to rub its body against it.

"Knock it off!" It begins to purr and continues its dance around her ankles. "Go away!" Faiza whispers harshly. She shakes her leg in an attempt to get it to leave her alone without making too much noise. It meows loudly and Roz stops and turns, almost catching Faiza out in the hazy light of the moon. Roz looks around for a few seconds and continues home. "You almost got me caught, ya pest! Go away!" Faiza looks out of her hiding space. The cat turns and hisses. She looks down and notices that it's looking behind her, "Shit!"

Faiza turns and is instantly struck in the face with a single blow to her jaw. She stumbles backward. When she regains her footing, she wipes the corner of her mouth with her thumb and glares at her attacker. The tavern owner stands in shock when he realizes that he barely knicked her. Fear begins to wash over his face.

"Your eyes. They...the glare's like the cat at your foot!" Faiza smirks. "You're a monster!"

"I'm nowhere near half the monster you are." The cat begins to rub its body against her leg again. Faiza looks down at the cat, rolls her eyes, then looks back at the owner. His eyes remain at her feet in confusion. She kicks the cat away and moves into her fighting position. Left foot forward. Left hand free. Right foot back. Right hand on her hip where her dagger lies. Eyes on her target without losing sight of what surrounds her. The owner stares at her and pulls a small knife from his pocket. The same weapon he's used on his victims she'd bet.

His hand trembles as he decides on what to do. She knows exactly what he decides when he grips the handle of his knife. He sneers as he begins his run towards her. He's faster than she expected his overweight stature to allow. He slices his knife through the air, aiming for the right side of her body. She rolls her shoulder back, causing him to stumble passed her and land on his face. He beats the ground with his fist and lets out a low growl. Faiza turns to face him. Takes her stance again. He jumps to his feet. Flips his knife to his other hand and lowers his shoulders.

"Good job. Lower your center of gravity. Maybe you won't end up on your face next time." She says snidely. He darts towards her, extending his left arm, targeting her heart. She pulls her left shoulder back and pushes his arm away with her right hand. His anger grows.

"You move like that stupid fuckin' cat too!" Saliva flies as he speaks. Foam forms in the corners of his mouth. His breathing is heavy and ragged as he sorts out his next move. She tilts her head as she continues to size him up. "I'll have you, though. You'll be mine!" He licks his lips, "They're always mine! No matter how much they fight! And I like a good fight." He starts laughing.

She comes out of her stance and stands up straight.

"You're starting to bore me." He yells as he barrels towards her with his knife outstretched. She figured he had learned the first two times. She quickly takes her stance with her right hand on her dagger and drops her left hand to the ground. His movements slow drastically.

"What the hell have you done to me, witch!?" She walks towards him, flipping her dagger nonchalantly.

"...er," she adds.

"What?!"

"Witch...er. It's simple." His eyes widen. His involuntary sluggish movements cause him to fall to his knees. "What are you going to do to me!?"

"The same thing you did to them." He begins to sob and plead for his life.

"I'll never do it again! I won't touch another! You have my word!"

"Your word doesn't mean shit to me." She moves behind him and straddles his legs on either side. Close enough for her to pull his head back by his hair. Exposing his neck and stretching the folds of his fat for a cleaner cut. She moves her dagger to his throat. She stops and looks around. She sniffs. She looks down at him.

"Really?" He continues to blubber. The smell is making her stomach turn. She quickly glides her dagger across his throat to relieve herself of the misery. His lifeless body hits the ground hard. "Pitiful."

Faiza stands searching her surroundings, yet again. This time in a town. A town she's yet explored. Men stand in the streets facing her with their weapons drawn. Townspeople still handling their responsibilities of the day. Early morning. She attempts to find any semblance of a clue as to what's happening,

"It's an ultimatum," one of the seven men says as he draws his sword, "Get it?" They stare her down. She still can't control her movements as a sword spins in a hand that doesn't belong to her in preparation for a fight. One of the men fires an arrow from a crossbow towards her face, and it's deflected. All hell breaks loose from there.

"WITCHER!" Another one of the men yells as he runs towards her. He's taken down quickly. The seven men are slaughtered with ease. Faiza tries to control the situation that she's witnessing but she can't. She's forced to watch.

Now she is facing a woman. A woman her own age. She looks worried but has a younger girl with a blade to her neck.

"I will kill everyone here until Stregobor comes down." The person whose eyes Faiza is looking through attempts a Sign, but it doesn't work on the woman. The woman pushes the girl away and the fight begins. Perspectives change back and forth as the clash goes on. But Faiza can never make out who the woman is battling. Their face remains clouded. Faiza watches as a sword is being held at her neck, she's looking through the woman's eyes now. She's a fighter, she attempts an attack on the shrouded person, Faiza tries her best to sift through the fog that covers them, but a dagger is plunged into her neck and pulled away. All goes dark.

Faiza wakes in a cold sweat. Breathing heavily. She looks at the sky outside of her window.

"Early morning," she whispers. She washes her face with water to regain herself. Her stomach is upset. Close to vomiting. She sits on the edge of her bed, bent over, with her hands on the back of her neck. She can still smell the stench of death from her dream. Or maybe that was just the night before. The foul odor still lingering in her nostrils. That reminds her.

"My payment." She packs her things and heads back to the tavern.

The crowd is still low. Patrons eating their late afternoon meals and attempt to drink away their ill feelings from the night before. No one seems to notice that the owner isn't around. It's his wife who's handling everything. Faiza walks to the bar and lays her things down. The woman never makes eye contact. She keeps her head down as she walks past and drops a bag of coins in front of her. Faiza speaks up,

"I'd like a—"

"We don't serve the likes of you here, witcher. Best be on your way now." Faiza stares at her, but the woman never looks back. The patrons are now beginning to look in their direction. Faiza grabs her things and heads towards the door. She hears a few of the onlookers whispering about an event that had taken place early that week in a different town.

"You hear about that white-haired witcher that killed the townsfolk of Blaviken?"

"Aye...the Butcher of Blaviken I hear they call him."

"I hear he even slaughtered a woman by the name of Renfri and left her in the streets for all to see. Some say she was mutated by the black sun, but I bet it was all a lie. They'll do anything for coin. Poor girl." The townspeople sit and stare at her with disdain as they speak ill of the man in Blaviken. This other witcher is really making life harder than it already is. She doesn't say a word and walks towards the inn for her horse.

"Ah, Amina. At least I can always trust that you'll remain." Faiza feeds her a few apples and packs her for their next stop.

"So, you're off, then?" A familiar voice comes from behind her. Faiza doesn't turn to her,

"Yes."

"Ah! Well, glad I could catch ya to, at least, say good-bye. That's a beautiful horse ya' have. Black and white stripes? Never seen anythin' like it."

"They are everywhere in Ofir."

"Really!? Now I have to visit. Well, anyways...you were probably one of the better conversations I've had in a while." Faiza looks towards Roz and gives her a slight smile, then back to her horse. "Feels different around here, ya know? Can tell things are gonna be a bit different in the tavern. The owner never came in this morning, and his missus told me to go look for him." Faiza looks over her shoulder at Roz.

"Why would she do that?"

"Why wouldn't she? That's her husband and ev'rythin'. Says he has a habit of wanderin' off. Sometimes for weeks." Faiza rolls her eyes. Roz notices her reaction. "You know somethin', don't ya? Go on then, what is it that you know?" Roz moves closer to Faiza and lowers her head awaiting the gossip.

"I killed him." Roz stands as straight as a pole.

"You what!?"